A Healing Touch

Graduation night was like any other in Millers Falls, Massachusetts. Family members came out for the graduation ceremony and then took part in some of the early celebrations going on. We would roam from one house to another with friends, drinking and toasting to our future and hoping to find the best parties going on around town.

In all honesty I wouldn’t call it a party; you could see every step of this entire process: people getting high together, doing drugs or making money playing pool or eating candy bars while their parents sat by them as they walked away...it felt totally appropriate but we had no clue how many houses there were within walking distance unless someone told us! Little did I know that this night would be like no other.

I left my sister Sarah at a small party being held at the Johnson’s house overlooking the town. I decided to drive down to the valley to a fun party that the Drake’s were putting on. As I arrived in town, I immediately noticed it was dark because of some heavy fog rising from the lake. As I approached the house, I noticed people began showing up with their cameras for photographs. While sitting outside eating ice cream from my favorite café, they came by asking me if I wanted to take some pictures with them.

Only two hours had gone by when all of us at the party heard a thunderous “boom” coming directly from the house across the lake. We ran outside to see what the commotion was all about, but to my surprise everything was silent, except for the sound of crickets. Everyone went back into the house to resume the party. At first I thought it was someone who’d been calling for help; that didn’t look right, either.

It was then that the chime on the clock rang three times for my attention that in less than four hours, I would be serving breakfast to a room full of people. “Where’s Sarah?” I wondered. I’ve got to get home. Sleep was precious, and I had already exhausted my last amount of energy. I jumped into my car and drove around the lake that separated the Drake’s house from the winding roads leading back up the hill.

When I arrived at the first intersection, which seemed to be a dead-end on both sides with no marked entrances or exits, the path ahead gave me some hope. But I could only see a few feet in front of me because of the heavy fog, before I got close enough to see where I needed to go to.

As I made my way up the steep hill and rounded the corner, I spotted a white sedan slowly inching its way toward the driver’s side of my vehicle and passing through my headlights, seeing no one at the wheel. There was, however, no mistaking an eerie presence that told me to mind my own business and go on. Reaching my house boiling mad, I yelled out, “I’m never taking her out again!” Laura, my oldest sister, had waited up for us and asked me about the whereabouts of my younger sister.

My response got less than warm reception as she approached with something very familiar (not too dissimilar from what you would hear when someone first tells they are going to commit suicide), yet somehow still enough credible to garner some attention by everyone else around her. After sitting down trying to calm down, our mother brought over several plates full of platters of ice cream along wafer thin sheets, but nothing ever came off them or anything approaching melted or browned outside of their hands.

“I don’t know where she is, but I do know she can get her own ride home”. Minutes later I was in bed, awake, watching the sun slowly rise. There was nothing I could do to get to sleep. As my stomach growled with rage and hunger, like a drunken shark circling on his tail as it snarls at its prey, my hands moved frantically about me while thinking of ways this would be another terrible day for me.

I finally fell asleep when the phone rang minutes later. It was the State Trooper informing me of an accident that had occurred and therefore would like to speak with my parents. As my parents jumped from their bed and stormed out the door, I ran after them, prepared for what I expected. “What-What’s wrong?” asked Laura, who was pacing in front of me like an animal chasing its prey. She paused mid-sentence, then continued on at full speed until she caught up with our parents.

Moments later, as we arrived at the scene of the accident, I noticed the deep markings on the tree where the car made impact. I looked down the hill and saw several cars that had jumped over and got stuck in the trees below. Several people I recognized from school were trapped inside a black vehicle but were alive. I told them that help was on the way. As I made my way down to the crash site, I saw a crumpled white sedan. I called out to Sarah, but there was no response. As I made my way down the steep hill towards the car, my heart pounding ever so fast not knowing what I might find, within seconds everything came to a sudden stop.

What I feared the most came true. It was Sarah and her best friend Rachel slumped over in the driver’s seat. After two hours of cutting and prying at twisted metal, Sarah and Rachel were finally removed and pronounced dead. I thought to myself, “if only I had picked her up from the party, she would still be alive today.” She died because I did nothing about it.

Weeks had gone by without me making one step outside, blaming myself for Sarah’s death. I was exhausted and grieved, the pain still tugged at my heartstrings–the emptiness of my life having been replaced with nothingness in an instant when she left all of us behind as if we were ghosts walking along a lonely path. The days ahead felt like years; even though there wasn’t anything around but empty air, water running down the stream. I could sense that this world is changing too slowly right now, leaving her memory alone in their own words against walls from which no person has stepped ever since.

A few days later, as I was sitting on the front porch staring out, the sun rising ever so slowly; I saw the presence of a gentle, white bearded old man who reached out to me and touched my shoulder, comforting me. I explained my sadness to him, “my sister is dead.” He replied, “I know, I’m here to ease your pain and stop your suffering.” Here he was apologizing for her death in his own way: with an eye-to the heart thing. Moments later, I realized that my pain and sorrow had ceased. I turned around to thank the old man, but he was gone. I sat with tears in my eyes, holding on tightly to every object I might have touched before she passed from this life.

Three days after I returned home from Sarah’s funeral, I found myself all alone outside, not a sound in the air. Suddenly, a gentle whisper of wind swirled around me, somehow relieving the guilt from my pain that left me with the most comforting warmth and feeling in my heart. It was as though she was there, calling out to me. Although I couldn’t see her, I felt a presence beside me like no other.

For so long, this had been impossible. I never had a chance to tell her how much I loved her. But suddenly, here again without warning, something bright came over me—something familiar yet inexplicable… but then… oh yes… It was during that moment that I finally realized my sister “Sarah,” bidding her last goodbye.